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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682849">somebody loves you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/satruns/pseuds/satruns'>satruns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-ACOFAS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:15:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/satruns/pseuds/satruns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nesta has a gift and Cassian apologizes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nesta Archeron/Cassian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>somebody loves you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is entirely self-indulgent because I won’t be able to sleep at night knowing Cassian might never address that comment in ACOFAS.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cassian was the proudest he’d ever been. He mused upon the momentous feat with a dopey grin as he trudged behind a short-winded Nesta Archeron. They trained today—harder and longer than ever before—and she had transcended his expectations with a devastating ease that settled in the core of his being and struck him wordless.</p><p>It wasn’t always like this. That first month in the Illyrian mountains following her banishment proved to be a challenge for both of them and he was beginning to warm up to the notion that he may never see any progress in Nesta Archeron. That she was too far gone. That she had succumbed into that depthless void at once and made it her lair.</p><p>The following month was analogous to lighting a torch in the darkest of corridors. Cassian shifted strategies. He was aware that he could not force her hand toward the light at the end of the tunnel, but he could guide her and illuminate a path for her. He would emerge as her beacon and it would be up to her sails to propel her vessel and make way toward their destination.</p><p>Cassian dedicated weeks to restoring her body. During the first phase, he assuaged Nesta’s thin frame with clear broths and teas and slowly weaned her body off alcohol. When the taste and smell no longer nauseated her and when the withdrawal tremors seized, he introduced her to richer and more sustainable meals.</p><p>Eventually, she would timidly signal for seconds or request he prepared a particular plate for her, as if it would cost him to provide for her, as if she was a burden. She would soon come to know that Cassian would be at her beck and call because he cared for her, and his actions following that treacherous month established the sentiment to be true.</p><p>He could not reign the thunderous beat of his heart or the gleam in his eye at her reserved appreciation for Illyrian cuisine, for <em>his</em> cooking, for <em>his</em> efforts.</p><p>They had been wandering about the camp observing a group of young Illyrians as they trained when she asked him to instruct her. She didn’t look at him when she said it, but the dignified nature of her voice held the same intensity he was certain enchanted those otherworldly blue-grey eyes.</p><p>He mulled over her inquiry—made sure he hadn’t imagined it—and voiced, “I am ready whenever you are, Nesta.”</p><p>Soon after, she gave the simplest dip of her chin before turning on her heel. Cassian followed but not before pumping a celebratory fist in the air which earned him several snickers from the Illyrians who caught the moronic display.</p><p>The day of her first session, she entered the kitchen donning the Illyrian fighting leathers he solicited from Emerie. He feared the sizing would be off but his chest puffed out with pride when he examined her from the intricate braided chignon at her nape down to the leather boots on her feet.</p><p>She was no longer the hollow shell of a woman he witnessed in Velaris. She was still beautiful then—she would always be beautiful to him—but now, he was fighting the urge to profess just how her beauty felt akin to a javelin to the heart. How her beauty, her strength, her desire to piece herself back together on her own volition, and her newfound faith in him would be the catalyst to his demise and rebirth. That he would die and come back time and time again and for each new breath he’d call for her, seek her, make the time. Keep his promise.</p><p>He was in too deep now, he had to say something. Anything. Nesta could not see the truths buried in his eyes.</p><p>A wicked, taunting smile curved his lips. “Glad to see you woke up ready to play, Nesta.”</p><p>Nesta’s power broke through the surface then and he swallowed thickly, bracing himself for her beautiful wrath. It left him breathless each time.</p><p>Her now quicksilver eyes shone. A warning. “You are treading on thin ice. Don’t push it.”</p><p>He didn’t. He simply placed the bowl of porridge in front of her and in his mind’s eye, went over their plans for the morning. Cassian ignored the giddy eagerness that settled in his belly now that she was willing and open to train with him. By the Cauldron. He would not take any moment for granted.</p><p>The earlier weeks of their training were brutal. Before she could wield any weapon, Cassian focused on improving her stamina and endurance. Nesta gained much of her weight back but physically, she was weak. She grew tired too quickly.</p><p>He needed to start small and move in accordance with her pace. He intended to keep their training away from prying eyes and the mountains farthest from the buzzing heart of the camp served as the perfect location.</p><p>She liked the mountains. Nesta never vocalized that sentiment, but with the way her eyes scanned her surroundings each time and occasionally stayed glued to one spot in unadulterated awe, he knew what it meant.</p><p>He always offered to fly her up and down the snow-capped mountain before and after their training but Nesta turned him down every time. One day, she would let him. One day, he would have her in his arms again.</p><p>Truthfully, Cassian didn’t mind walking if it meant she would get those necessary steps in. And most importantly, he began to worship that beautiful look on her face when she would halt for a second, stunned by the view, and fixate on the camp below the mountain.  </p><p>Much to his discontent, the routine wore down her body. At the end of each session, Nesta sported new bruises and scars. Her feet struggled to carry her but she showed up each time. Standing a bit taller, head held a bit higher, paired with a determination that could challenge that of the mightiest ancient gods he’d come to hear about sitting idly by campfires.</p><p>And now… Now, Nesta Archeron was a goddess in the flesh.</p><p>It wasn’t the physical strength that she had refined throughout the past few months that earned her the title. Or the fact that she had pinned him down with a dagger at his throat, a hot searing palm pressing down on his chest inundated with just enough of her power to swirl in steely, static ropes around her fingers but never quite doing damage.</p><p>No.</p><p>It was the yellow daffodils she summoned around them in the wake of her power.</p><p>Cassian inspected them for a long moment, plucking one off the ground and bringing it to his nose to inhale, before shifting his gaze to the panting female above him. “How long have you been keeping that cute little trick of yours up your sleeve?”</p><p>Nesta unhooked her legs from where they resided by his hips and stood. Cassian’s hand twitched at his side with a yearning to keep her near.</p><p>“A while,” she shrugged.</p><p><em>A while</em>. Cassian sat up and rested his arms on his knees. Nesta made it her mission to keep any developments in regard to her abilities hidden from him. He understood why—in other ways he was the same—and he didn’t push her.</p><p>Her willingness to use her magic in front of him was a substantial leap on its own.</p><p>Cassian acknowledged that many of the strides Nesta had made in the last few months were due to her own inclination to heal. He distanced himself when he had to, gave her the space she needed, yet propped her up and supported her when the paralyzing reality of her pain and suffering cut too deep.</p><p>To face her magic—her gift—would mean to put a mirror to the conglomeration of scars that she had acquired throughout her life. As a human. As High-Fae. As the Goddess of Death.</p><p>Moreover, Cassian shunned a few of his scars too.</p><p>He dragged his gaze to settle on her blue-grey eyes. Nesta’s surveying glare roamed over his features before she muttered, “Get up. Let’s head back.”</p><p>Once on his feet, Cassian dusted off his disarrayed leathers. Nesta tapped into her magic right as he was about to step toward her and the daffodils that once surrounded them, the one he slid between his fingers, kindled with lustrous ardor and turned to ashes. All that remained was dry, barren land.</p><p>Life, then death.</p><p>She walked away from him as she’d done many times before and the incredulous laugh he released reverberated between the bare branches in the clearing.  </p><p>The pride that swelled in his body was distracting and more so was the female walking ahead of him.</p><p>Today was easily the best day they had up in the mountains. He prolonged their session and—<em>Cauldron save him</em>—was it worth it. Nesta had grown an affinity for a particular dagger and for the first time, she was able to gain the upper hand.</p><p>Cassian had never loved defeat until he was underneath Nesta Archeron with a blade a hair’s breadth away from his throat and her ravishing, panting form on top of him.</p><p>She was still breathless as he trekked behind her, the dagger sheathed at her side.</p><p>He’d detected how the handle nearly sung from her touch; the pommel a sterling blue that seemed to come alive within her grasp.</p><p>If Cassian had to make an educated guess, he would hypothesize that she must have forged it with her magic. Nesta wasn’t fond of weapons and she never showed any particular interest in them.</p><p>This dagger, however, was an extension of her power. Based on her attachment to it, Cassian was convinced she favored how it called to her—its omnipotence in the palm of its creator—instead of the fatal sharpness of the edges or the tapered point.</p><p>Alas, he would add that to the list of the lingering mysteries attributed to Nesta Archeron.</p><p>It was a challenge to swipe that ridiculous smile off his face. He looked a fool and frankly, he did not care.   </p><p>He broke the silence then, “I can always fly us down, you know.”</p><p>“Consider this your walk of shame.” Nesta didn’t turn to look at him but he could hear the mischief in her voice and suspected she had the perfect expression to match.</p><p>Cassian halted.</p><p>“Can I just say… that was—” <em>Brave. Stunning. Erotic.</em>  “Impressive.”</p><p>Without fail, she shrugged off the compliment. He struggled to suppress his irritation. Cassian wanted to shake her as if to tell her <em>you are worthy; you deserve to hear good things.</em></p><p>“I am proud of you, Nesta. Truly.”</p><p>She stopped ahead of him, unmoving. He eyed her carefully as she pivoted slightly on her feet to face the camp below, that new habit of hers. The wind picked up then, golden-brown strands billowing as they came loose from the long braid down her back.</p><p>Despite her commendable posture, he took in her fidgeting fingers and the bottom lip her teeth nibbled on.</p><p>Nesta faced him, “You told me to try once… and I am trying.”</p><p>Cassian wanted the earth to devour him right there and then.</p><p>
  <em>Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.</em>
</p><p>He knew the wounds his words deepened the moment they slipped out of his mouth.</p><p>Her eyes emptied. She called him by his name. She didn’t rage—told him to go home—and he <em>knew</em>. He knew that Nesta Archeron was standing on a ledge and his words were the vicious winds that nudged her off-kilter and into the precipice.</p><p>Their constant push and pull mocked him, grated on his nerves, on that sense of inadequacy that weighed down on his conscience, and she was merely a human. A beautiful yet guarded human who lived to hate. To hate her father, her circumstance, her ability to feel too deeply—to hate his kind.</p><p>Being Made against her will alongside the tragedies that followed transformed that spark of hatred into a forest fire.</p><p>Amidst the devastation, he claimed she was unfit for love.</p><p>
  <em>Bastard. Brute.</em>
</p><p>Cassian braced himself, “I have been cruel... To you, Nesta.”</p><p>With a strange look in her eye he couldn’t quite place, Nesta clasped her hands behind her back.</p><p>“You’re apologetic. Why?” Her darting eyes searched his face for a reason. ”I recall being equally as harsh.”</p><p>No. <em>No. </em>“No, Nesta.”</p><p>Cassian spent a myriad of sleepless night dissecting every encounter, every conversation, every move. That initial approach he utilized to taunt her—poking at her inexperience, intimidating her with his size, his power, baring his teeth, overstepping boundaries, questioning her character—because he didn’t know how to ground himself around her.</p><p>The manner in which she retaliated—just as viciously. To wound him, to not crumble under his scrutiny and intensity, to preserve her autonomy, to make him recoil from her fire so he wouldn’t get close enough to extinguish it.</p><p>Cassian took one tense step forward, “On Solstice… what I said… I crossed a line. I urged you to try, but I’d like to try for you too. I’d like to be better.”</p><p>Nesta remained motionless whilst Cassian’s heart was pounding against his ribcage, threatening to belch out of his body and onto Nesta’s feet. Its sole proprietor.</p><p>“There is not a day in which I’m not guilt-ridden by my ignorance. I have failed you, time and time again. I have caused you pain. I know my words may not mean much to you now, but know this to be true. Nesta…” His wings jutted out slightly.</p><p>Cassian’s vulnerability evoked a similar sensation to that of bleeding out on the battlefield—a deep-rooted gash to his chest—his innermost parts unconcealed for the world to see.</p><p>Her brows furrowed, icy blue eyes scanning him all over. She was so still, so beautiful. He thought his legs might give out from under him.</p><p>“Do not think for a second that you are undeserving of love. You deserve more… You deserve so much more. You must understand that.” He would show her. He had to. “I hope you can forgive me. Not now. When you are ready. When I have proved myself worthy of it.”</p><p>He placed a hand over his heart, the wretched organ calling to her—beating her name. Nes-ta. Nes-ta. Nes-ta.</p><p>Her gaze softened, leather boots scrunching on the Illyrian soil as she moved in his direction. Closer. Closer.</p><p>Nesta lifted a pale hand to rest on the one at his heart as if she heard the invocation, the convictions that resided there.</p><p>She set free a deep breath, “Very well then.”</p><p>Nesta gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, the ghost of a smile twitched the corners of her tempting full lips.</p><p>“Fly us back, Cassian.”</p><p>That day, they died and started anew.</p><p> </p>
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